


Resonance

by HazelnutShippingCo



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Pining, Soul-Bonding, Utumno, Wedding, the manner in which embodied Ainur are wed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelnutShippingCo/pseuds/HazelnutShippingCo
Summary: A sequel of sorts to my earlier work, "The Seduction of Mairon".This story takes place during Mairon's early days in Melkor's service, in the fortress of Utumno.





	Resonance

“It is yours to do with as you will,” Melkor had told Mairon as he led the Maia into the new-delved forge.

_ His _ forge,  _ his _ alone, Mairon had realized as he surveyed the space.  It was not like Aulë’s forge, to be shared with others, a place in which they were instructed, ordered.  This forge was Mairon’s, to do with as he wished. Such skill and vision, Melkor had told him, deserved a degree of autonomy.  It was something Mairon had been denied in the Valar’s service, but something that Melkor gave him freely.

Mairon stood alone now, there in that chasm, deep beneath a mountain. Magma lit the room in a red glow, serving both as a source of illumination and of the heat by which he could craft whatever works he saw fit.  He stood amidst the tools and tables. All things were prepared, he realized, save for himself.

Freedom, Mairon mused.  How long had he desired it, without even recognizing that desire? It had been Melkor who brought the concept to light for him, Melkor who set the idea to words and moved him to seek it.  And now, by Melkor’s power, he  _ was _ free - free to do as he would for the first time since setting foot upon Arda.  But with that freedom, it seemed, came also a sense of directionlessness.

And yet, he realized, that was not so.  There was never a moment now where Mairon was truly directionless.  Ever was his mind pulled in a single direction: toward the one who had freed him, the one who now held his thoughts captive.  Mairon’s mind echoed still with the strange resonance he had felt in Melkor’s presence. If he were to be honest, it was that, more than any noble desire for freedom, which had drawn him here.  Always now, he felt it, tugging at his consciousness.

When far from Melkor, he longed to be close, to feel again that irresistible harmony that reached out to him, stirring the very essence of his soul.  And yet, drawing near, he shrank away, for his spirit trembled in that nearness, not with fear, but desire. It pained him how deeply he wanted for more.

And so, he held back.  When feasts were held in Utumno’s halls, great revelries amongst the servants of Melkor, Mairon lingered along the edges, daring not tread too close to the throne, fearing what he might do if he drew too near to his new lord.  From time to time, Melkor’s eyes would seek him out through the throng. It shocked like a bolt down Mairon’s spine when their eyes met, left his knees weak and his heart fluttering. But he resisted the urge to draw nearer, to seek again for the intimate connection that beckoned to him still.

Alone in the forge, Mairon touched a hand to his lips, remembering.  It had been in another forge, far to the West. Mairon had been working late, believing himself alone, until Melkor revealed himself.  Had he felt it too, Mairon wondered, that pulsing energy that reverberated between them then, that force like metals magnetized that seemed to draw them together?  Had he also lost himself in that moment, that kiss, when all else seemed to fade away?

Or had it all been a result of Melkor’s power, his mesmerizing method of seducing Maiar into his service?  Perhaps all those who followed him felt so drawn. Mairon felt he should have been angry at that prospect, and yet, he found he was not.  Regardless of Melkor’s intentions, the effect was the same: Mairon was here.

And he could not go back.  Even if it turned out that Melkor had tricked him, that the kiss had been only a ruse, Mairon would not return to the Valar’s service.  His decision had been made. Melkor offered him a freedom that no one else would – to create of his own accord. That was something Mairon would never willing give up again.

Mairon strolled further into the forge.   _ His _ forge.  Finally, he was ready to proceed.  He would use this gift Melkor had given him.  He would express himself through mastery of metal, work out his frustrations through the pounding of hammer on anvil, until only beauty and functionality remained.  Eagerly, Mairon began sorting through the ores that had been left for his use, selecting those most suited to the task he now had in mind.

Long Mairon labored in the forge alone.  Others came to seek him – messengers of Melkor who asked after his absence.  He sent them away with a single response: Melkor had given him this forge and the freedom to do with it as he would; Mairon was making use of this gift.

At last, his work was complete.  Mairon gazed over his creation, checking over each detail one last time.  It was a suit of armor, cast in metal black and shining as obsidian. A filigree of red gold adorned the surfaces, fine as the strands of Mairon’s hair and etched into intricate patterns.  Mairon knew already that the fit would be perfect – he knew well by sight the form his new master preferred to take, had committed each detail already to memory. Into the metal itself, Mairon had woven magic, lacing the material with songs of power, fusing them into the lattice structure, inseparable.  They were songs of protection, strong and unyielding, made all the more powerful by the sincerity behind them, as Mairon channeled into them some essence of that resonance he had felt when his soul drew near Melkor’s. 

Mairon packed the armor into a chest, wrapping each piece carefully in soft cloth.  Finished, he lifted the chest in his arms and finally left the forge. 

In the throne room of Utumno, Melkor held council.  His generals and advisors stood about him, spirits in varying forms, from shadowy figures that lurked cloaked to the imposing beings of flame and ash – the Balrogs, of whom tales were told even in Valinor.  All eyes turned toward Mairon as he entered, some suspicious or surprised, others indignant at the interruption. 

Mairon looked past them all, directly to Melkor upon his throne.  “My Lord,” he called out, his voice confident despite the trembling of his soul as his master’s eyes locked with his own.  “I have a gift for you.”

The room was set to murmuring.  Melkor raised his hand for silence, and the order was immediately obeyed.  “Come forward,” he responded. His face betrayed nothing.

Mairon quelled a rising mixture of fear and eagerness.  The crowd parted, and Mairon moved, his feet carrying him directly, though he forced them to an even pace while the beating of his heart bid him run.  At the foot of the throne, he knelt, laying the chest before him. He raised his eyes to Melkor’s once more, and at the other’s nod, opened the chest.

Soft gasps and hushed accolades sounded as he unboxed the gift.  The dim light of the room shimmered off the polished metal. The subtle ornaments glittered brightly as the armor seemed to hum with residual magic, as if in answer to being found in the presence of the one for whom it had been sung into being.

Melkor, leaning forward on his throne, looked from the armor to Mairon and back again.  “This gift is well made,” he said, both to Mairon and the room at large. “I accept it.” 

Melkor stood, reaching down a hand to Mairon.  Tentatively, Mairon took it and was lifted to his feet.  The touch set his mind ringing, but he forced himself to focus.  There were too many others around to let himself falter now. 

Melkor released his hand.  “Now,” the Vala said to him, “help me try it on.  The rest of you are dismissed.” He waved his hand, and the others began to disperse, though there was no small amount of muttering as they did so. 

Mairon picked up the breastplate of the armor as Melkor slipped off the heavy outer robe of his garments.  “I had been wondering,” Melkor said, laying the robe aside, “what it was that had kept you so long from my court.  I see now that it was worth the wait.”

“I am pleased that it is to your liking, my Lord,” Mairon replied, placing the piece of metal against Melkor’s body.  He willed his hands not to tremble as he secured the clasps.

“It is beautiful,” Melkor commented, his fingertips following the pattern of the filigree.  “Though, I knew it would be,” he amended. “I knew that anything you chose to make would be beautiful.  But to think that of all the things you could create, you chose first this…” Melkor’s voice trailed off as a smile played at his lips.

“You told me to do as I wished with the forge you gave me,” Mairon answered him, taking a step closer, his resolve to hold back slipping away with the close proximity and realization that they were alone together.  “This is what I wished to make.” He laid a hand upon the metal covering Melkor’s chest. “I hope it serves you well, my Lord. I hope…” His voice faltered as he felt Melkor lay a hand on his back, gently easing them closer.  “I hope,” he continued, “that I can serve you well.” 

Mairon looked up again at his lord’s face.  It seemed to him that his own desire was mirrored in Melkor’s eyes.  Perhaps he did feel it too. Mairon leaned nearer, his lips parted to speak.

But Melkor dipped his head to catch Mairon’s open lips with his own.  It was gentler than Mairon anticipated, posed as a question. Mairon answered it in kind, lifting onto the balls of his feet, his arms reaching up to clasp around Melkor’s neck, deepening the kiss. 

Melkor responded instantly.  His arms drew Mairon in, pressing him close, forgetting, perhaps, in that instant, the armor he wore.  Mairon gasped softly as his flesh was pinned against hard metal, breaking the kiss for but a moment, before pressing his lips back against Melkor’s and reaching to fumble with the latches that held the breastplate in place.  Not now, after so long a wait of doubt and desire, would he be interrupted by such a thing as this. 

The armor fell away, and Melkor clasped Mairon to him once again, not holding back now that Mairon had given him such enthusiastic consent.  Mairon was overcome by sensation: the physical heat that built within him as their two bodies pressed flush together, the bright, glorious resonance that rang through him as their spirits drew near, their harmonies matching and amplifying, and the ache of his soul as it longed to be closer still.

Melkor’s hands tangled in Mairon’s hair, loosing it from the bonds that had held it back.  Clothing began to follow the armor to the floor, first the leather apron Mairon had worn from the forge, then the light tunic beneath it.  Melkor’s lips left Mairon’s as the shirt came over his head, then moved to caress his neck. A soft moan escaped Mairon’s lips. He reached beneath Melkor’s shirt.  The bare skin was invitingly warm against Mairon’s hands. He lingered there a moment before pulling the shirt up over Melkor’s head. This time, he caught Melkor’s lips again with his own before they had time to wander elsewhere.

Skin against skin, and still they were not close enough.  The resonance that drew Mairon near to Melkor drew at him still, ringing through his blood and setting his spirit to quiver like a sounded chime that sounded over and again in each passing moment, echoing that other spirit that drew now so close.  It set even his body to aching, so overpowering was this reverberation.

He should be frightened, perhaps, by the intensity, question the meaning of this commanding desire.  But such thoughts were as far from Mairon’s mind as the open sky from the deep, shadowed hall wherein they stood, embraced, with no mind to pause or contemplate.    This was what had drawn him here. This, which he had not known he needed, which he needed now more than anything he had before. He needed more. More of this resonance, more of Melkor.  

And Melkor’s need, it seemed, was matched.  He kissed Mairon harder, pressing him back against one of the great columns that held aloft the throne room’s high ceiling.  The stone contrasted coldly upon Mairon's skin against the heat that built within him, burning as metal awaiting the hammerfall.  

“Don't stop…” Mairon whispered breathlessly as Melkor’s lips left his again.  He could not bear it if they ended this now. “Please…” He heard the hum of Melkor's smile.

“As you will it,” Melkor breathed into his ear, pausing to press the slanting curve of it gently between his lips as his hands slipped lower upon Mairon's body, which arched to lean up into him.  “So also is my will,” he finished, kissing Mairon's mouth again. Fresh echoes arced through Mairon's mind.

As they kissed, Melkor's  hands worked to undo the lacing of Mairon's trousers.  Loosened, he slipped them down from Mairon's hips. Mairon kicked off the leggings together with his leather boots.  For a moment Melkor held him at arm’s length, looking down at Mairon's unclad body, his pale skin gleaming softly in the dim light, before Mairon slipped into his arms again, unwilling to remain at even that distance. 

With one hand Mairon tilted Melkor's head down to kiss him again, while the other tugged deftly at the belt that held Melkor's pants in place, eager for even more contact, to increase this intoxicating resonance further.  Melkor's hands wandered over Mairon's naked skin, while the Maia divested him of his remaining garments, seeking out sensitivities that caused Mairon to gasp and arch up against him as sensation trilled up his spine. 

Both free of their clothing at last, Melkor pinned Mairon back against the pillar, pressing their bodies flush together.  Like sparks from an anvil, Mairon's thoughts seemed to scatter, leaving only that glorious resonance and the need for more of it.  He curled his right leg smoothly around Melkor's left, increasing the pressure where they met between hips. Melkor shuddered,bucking against him.

“Mm…” Mairon responded with pleased moan.  “More,” he begged.

Wordlessly, Melkor complied, changing his stance and lifting Mairon's leg higher onto his thigh to come up beneath him.  Mairon moaned again as Melkor's body shifted against his. It set him to trembling all over again. It was almost unbearable now, the clamoring volume of the reverberations between them.  Melkor's eyes caught and held Mairon's, asking, seeking permission. Mairon answered by pressing his mouth against Melkor's again. He was past the point of speaking words. Yes, he bid Melkor with his lips, his body, willing him to understand: he gave himself over wholly, unreservedly.  

Melkor received the meaning clearly.  Adjusting their position, he thrust upward.  Mairon cried out as Melkor entered him. The pain of it he had not expected - sharp in its suddenness, and yet quickly overcome by the still greater intensity of the resonance that rang out, increased now tenfold.  

Mairon pressed his mouth against Melkor's, moaning into the kiss as Melkor pushed more deeply into him.  His hands clutched at Melkor's shoulders, clinging to him as the world about seemed to sway unstably. He could feel Melkor's soul pressing against his own, no longer divided by separate bodies.

The resonance thundered through him, louder to Mairon's mind than the entire host of the chorus before the world was made.  And still it amplified. Melkor moved within him, slow at first, testing. Mairon gasped with the sensation of each new thrust, as his body adjusted to this new intimacy.  Discomfort fell away, leaving pleasure in its wake. 

They moved together now in a rhythm that seemed innate to the echoes that their souls passed back and forth, until the distinction between them began to blur, as the heat of their coupling and the reverberations that surrounded and penetrated seemed to set their souls to melting, to mingle and mix.  This was what his soul had called out for; this was the end to which he was pulled. And Melkor, he knew, felt the same. They were inextricably close now, spirits tangled and merging, and Melkor's thoughts, fleeting and overwhelmed as Mairon's, flitted through Mairon's mind as clearly as his own. 

Shared wonder passed between them at the nearing completion of their unity, resonating harmonies more profound than they had dared dream attainable.  Melkor pressed his lips to Mairon's once more, needing and possessing and giving all at once, and Mairon returned it in kind. 

Oneness followed.  For but a moment, the resonance coalesced into a single ringing chord that shocked them to stillness in its intensity.  And even as the moment ended, the chord echoed on, seeming to settle into the very essence of Mairon's being as they sank to their knees, breathing heavily, still clinging to each other as the moment faded.  

Mairon leaned his head onto Melkor's shoulder, waiting for his fast-beating heart to quiet.  He closed his eyes. The world around him slowly returned to focus. He felt the steadying rise and fall of Melkor's chest against his.  At the back of his neck, Melkor's hand played absently with his hair.

“I should go,” Mairon whispered.  The cold stone floor against his legs had reminded Mairon of where it was they now lingered, embraced and unclothed.  The throne room would not remain unpeopled forever.

What had happened between them had been unexpected, and echoes of it tremored through him still.  Mairon needed to process this event somewhere he could again think clearly, and consider the ramifications of their actions. 

Reluctantly, he stood up from Melkor's embrace.  Mairon winced in soreness as he moved to collect his discarded clothes, a fact that did not go unnoticed. 

“Have I harmed you?” Melkor asked, concern displayed sincerely in his face and voice, as he knelt still upon the floor. 

The care brought to Mairon a rush of warm fondness.  “It is nothing that will not soon heal,” he reassured.

Still Melkor's face bent in a frown.  “Even so,” he insisted, “it was not ever my intent to hurt you.”

The warmth spread, settling evenly through Mairon's spirit.  “I know, my Lord,” he answered, offering Melkor a soft smile of understanding as he relaced his trousers before slipping his shirt back over his head and reaching for his boots.

Melkor stood, wrapping his robe about himself.  He stooped then to retrieve the armor that had fallen to the floor, placing it carefully back into the chest with the other pieces. 

Snatching up lastly his leather apron, Mairon turned to leave.  Melkor opened his mouth as if to speak, and Mairon hesitated. But Melkor spoke no word.  Mairon took this as permission to leave. He stepped silently away and out of the throne room.

Quickly, Mairon walked the winding halls back toward his forge, in no mind to hold council with any save for himself.   None hindered him along the way, and he swiftly reached the hot, red-lit chamber. Closing the door behind him, Mairon leaned against the nearest wall, suddenly weary.  Heat permeated the dark stone, born of the Earth's very core. Mairon could feel it radiating into his back. He eased himself down onto the floor until he was resting comfortably with his legs spread before him and allowed the heat to seep soothingly into his muscles.

Alone now in this place that was his own, his sanctuary, Mairon began to contemplate the magnitude of what had just occurred.  Nothing prior in his life could compare. It went beyond any sort of harmony he had sung with others before the world, beyond any embrace, spiritual or physical, that he had experienced.  In that single moment, he and his master had become one, wholly and truly. 

It seemed something beyond comprehension, that two should become one.  They were Ainur, created separate and whole, not some metals to be melted and mixed.  And were not the bodies they now wore further sign of their individuality? And yet, it had happened.  And even his body, which held him further separate, had played its part in making them one. His spirit had been reforged in the heat of it.  

Even now, though separate again, Mairon felt it: he was not the same.  The echoes of their completed resonance still hummed within his soul. Would it fade, he wondered, with time or distance?  Would his soul return to its old melodies, leaving behind only memory? Or was he now forever changed?

Perhaps, Mairon thought.  Only time would tell. He closed his eyes, focusing on the echoes within him.  They seemed almost tangible, forming together into something that was more than an echo.  And it was warm in ways the wall behind him could not hold a candle to. Mairon savored it, an aftereffect unsought but welcome.  

If they chose to do again as they had done, Mairon’s mind wondered wistfully, would the effect be the same?  Would they burn with the same intensity, drawn as they had been by undeniable desire? Or would it be different, as he was now different?  Or was that desire now sated? Mairon frowned at that last thought. Having taken him once would Melkor still desire to take him again?

As if in answer, a knock sounded softly at the door.  Mairon sensed it was Melkor who stood beyond, knew it as clearly as if he stood in plain sight, though how, he could not fathom.  “Enter,” Mairon replied, standing up from his place upon the floor. The door swung quietly open. Crossing the threshold, Melkor shut it behind him.

The distance between them closed. “Mairon,” Melkor murmured his name, laying a gentle hand upon the Maia’s cheek - a touch which Mairon leaned into instinctively. The fondness of the simple gesture set his heart to fluttering. 

“We need to talk,” Melkor continued. “What happened between us…” He reached down to take Mairon’s hand and lifted it until their palms lay pressed together. 

“My Lord?” Mairon questioned, wishing him to continue. 

“I know that you felt it, as I did,” Melkor answered, “the bond that was formed as we became one.”

“I felt it, my Lord.” Mairon laced his fingers through Melkor’s. “I feel it still. I did not know such a thing could be.” 

Melkor's hand closed comfortably over Mairon's. “It had never made sense to me before,” he admitted, “the unyielding desire to be so attached to another being. It had seemed to me a weakness, this need for another.”

“Then, we are not the first to have done this?” Mairon asked, perplexed. 

Melkor shook his head. “No. And this you already knew, though you did not then comprehend its meaning. Though rare among our kind, it is not unheard of for two to become espoused. Your own former master, for example.”

“Espoused?” Mairon's eyes widened in shock. “Do you mean to say that  _ this _ is what it means to be wedded? That you and I…?” He fell silent as the realization took full form in his mind. But surely, he could not be faulted for this. How could he have known? What reason had he to believe that the wedding of two Ainur meant anything more than an agreement of close cooperation and an exchange of affection? The thought that it should be a bonding of their very souls had never entered into his mind. 

“If this is displeasing to you,” Melkor began, a shadow of disappointment and regret clouding his face, “we may seek to find a way of undoing it, of dissolving this union. Since you did not enter into it with full knowledge of the consequences…”

“No,” Mairon interrupted strongly. “This bond between us I have long desired, even though the desire was unclear to me.” He stepped closer. “Please, my lord, do not take this bond from me, for it is more precious to me than anything else I have known. I have no desire to be without it again.”

Mairon watched as his words lit Melkor's face with joy and relief. “Then none shall take it from you,” Melkor assured him. “It shall be yours as long as this world lasts, and longer still, as I shall be.” Then leaning down, he pressed a kiss to Mairon's lips. 

It was different now than their kisses before, humming softly with the resonance already obtained, the sweet melody Mairon knew now to be their wedded bond. They lingered there, enjoying it for a few moments, before drawing again apart. 

“Take your rest with me this night.” It was request, not an order, Mairon realized. “For I desire to stay longer in your presence.”

Their hands were yet clasped, and Mairon raised Melkor's to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly before answering. “Again it seems our desires are matched. I will follow you, my Lord.”

Smiling, Melkor led him from the forge, hand in hand, to his own chambers. Those few they encountered along the way bowed low before the master of Utumno. Whether they even noticed the red-haired Maia that trailed beside him was unknown and at the moment, irrelevant. 


End file.
